


Helping Hand

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from the episode "Among the Philistines."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #5 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"He was a soldier."_

 

          "Are you okay?" Ironhorse asked, his gaze drawn to the melting body of Adrian Bouchard.  A surge of adrenalin coursed through his body.  It had been close, too damn close.

          "Yeah," Norton said, struggling to his elbows.

          "Wait," the colonel instructed, straightening and heading for Drake's voice-activated wheelchair.  Directing it over next to the fallen man, Ironhorse reached down and lifted the hacker into the seat.  "You're sure?"

          Norton nodded.  "Is everyone okay?"  Ironhorse's lips disappeared into a hard, thin line.  "What?"

          "Kensington."

          "He's hurt?"

          "Dead."  It was a whisper, and the pain behind it was not lost on the black man.  "Let's get upstairs before someone else finds the body."

          Norton nodded, too stunned to say anything.  Kensington, dead?  He'd heard the shotgun blast…  He bit his lower lip and grabbed Gertrude's wheels, pushing off to follow after Ironhorse.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The colonel left Norton waiting at the elevator while he climbed the stairs and restored the power.  That would open the front gate, he knew.  They didn't have long before Blackwood and Suzanne joined them.

          Ironhorse moved quickly back to the elevator and gently lifted Kensington, carrying the old man into his office and sitting him in the chair.  From the discoloration on the ex-major's neck, he guessed that he'd been strangled.

          Scooping up the phone, he dialed Ft. Streeter.  "Ironhorse here," he barked.  "I need some men for a cleanup operation.  Government safe house 348.  And I'll need a body bag."  He listened to the soldier acknowledge, then hung up.

          Pausing at the door, Ironhorse turned back, and, grabbing his Indian blanket, spread it over the still body.  Stalking out of his office, he closed the door behind him.

          The elevator opened and Norton rolled out, looking stunned.  "Where—?"

          "In my office," he replied to the unspoken question.

          Ironhorse followed the hacker to the living room, watching him jump when the front door burst open, spilling in Harrison Blackwood.  Reaching out, he gave Drake's shoulder a brief squeeze.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse knelt in front of the fireplace, working absently on ordering the blaze before setting another log in.  On their first night at the Cottage as a team Tom Kensington had commented that the colonel "liked a good fire."  He smiled fondly.  Over the next sixteen months he and the retired major had shared many nights in front of the blaze, talking quietly.  Kensington had seen his share of action, and his evaluations of alien activity offered a unique insight.

          Ironhorse realized that he'd miss the older man.  Kensington was a soldier.  He understood duty, honor, country in a way none of the civilians ever could…

          Gertrude's soft hum stilled the thoughts, and the colonel glanced over his shoulder to watch Norton rolling in to join him.

          When he was a few feet away from the colonel, Norton said softly, "Whoa, Gertrude."

          Ironhorse shifted so he could look up at the black man.  "Something up?"

          Drake shook his head.  "I…"  He trailed off, his head shaking slightly as he reconsidered what he was doing.  "It's nothing."

          He reached for the chair's wheels, but Ironhorse stopped him with a spoken, "Norton?"

          Two pairs of black eyes met.  "I guess I'm just feeling sorry for myself."

          "I don't think so," the colonel replied softly.  "You realize you did everything you possibly could to protect the Project and the lives of the people here."

          Norton shrugged, his eyes going to his lap where his fingers fumbled over each other.

          "Kensington knew the risks, Norton.  He was a soldier."

          "Retired.  He was supposed to be the groundskeeper.  He died in my place."

          Ironhorse leaned forward.  "No, he did not die in your place.  He had a duty – real or self-imposed – to protect you and Debi.  Debi was safe.  You weren't.  He did the only thing he could.  He tried to kill that damned monster…  He died in battle."

          Drake's head snapped up.  "And that makes it okay?"

          "No," Ironhorse shook his head, his voice tight and low.

          Norton felt the anger building a moment before evaporate in the realization that the colonel was blaming himself.  "You think it was your fault?"

          "I am head of security for this Project, Mr. Drake."

          "Yeah, but that doesn't make you God.  That must be the rank right above General."

          Ironhorse looked up sharply, unsure if he should be insulted or laugh.  The understanding in the computer expert's eyes permitted him the latter and he chuckled.  "We make a fine pair, don't we?"

          "I'll bet if we go find the Doc we could make it a threesome."

          "I wouldn't be surprised."  Poking at the fire with the cinder-covered metal poker, he continued.  "It's no one's fault.  I know that, but it's still hard.  We are at war, whether or not we want to be, whether or not we call it that."

          "I guess so."

          "And I do know one thing."

          "What?" Drake asked.

          "Major Kensington and I spent a lot of nights in here, talking.  He said this was the most important assignment he'd ever had; the most important war he'd fought in since 1953.  I believe he'd be proud to have given his life in this war, Norton.  I know I would.  No other cause was so important."

          Drake considered that for a moment, his gaze lost in the dancing flames.  Finally he nodded.  "You're right."  He looked at the soldier.  "I don't understand war, Colonel.  Never did.  But I understand survival.  Kensington died.  And he probably saved my life…"

          "And you saved all of our lives."  Ironhorse grinned.  "If you were in the Army, I'd recommend you for a medal."

          Drake's mouth tilted up in a thin smile.  "Ahh, but where would I wear it, Colonel?  It doesn't exactly go with the uniform."  He plucked at the wild tie-dye.

          "You have a point," Ironhorse conceded.  "And Mr. Drake, if I haven't said it already, thank you.  I'm proud to work with you."

          Norton felt his cheeks burn.  "I appreciate that, Colonel, really."  He grinned and a twinkle returned to his eyes.  "Besides, I need a target for my staff practices and Harrison bruises too easy."

          "Are you suggesting that I'm thick-skinned, Mr. Drake?" the colonel replied in mock outrage.

          "Not at all, Colonel," was the innocent response.  "Just crazy enough to keep coming back for more."


End file.
